They laughed kindly, and Eleyne said:—
“We 'll love thee for the sake of thy tales, wench, and forgive thee this once that thou art froward.”
“List, child,” said Godiyeva; “the poor is not so greatly to be pitied. I 'd liefer be a glee maiden, free to wander in all England, welcome in every hall and cot,—I 'd liefer be a houseless wench, say I, than—than this that I am.” And Godiyeva arose, lifted her arms wearily above her head, and paced down the hall into the shadows.
“If thou wert gowned in soft stuffs, and thy hair in a net and a horned cap atop,”—Custance mused idly, looking Calote up and down,—“methinks,—methinks,”—hereupon she clapped her hands and leaped to her feet. “Whyfore no? Come, wench, I 've a gown in my chest is too short for me. Here 's a merry sport. We 'll make thee a lady for the nonce.”
“Ay, do!” cried the knight; and presently slapped his leg, and laughed as at a secret thought.
“Nay, lady,” Calote protested; but Custance had her by the hand dragging her from the room.
“Thou 'lt spoil the wench,” said Eleyne; “is over bold now.” And Godiyeva curled her lip scornfully.
Sir Austin laughed yet more loud, and bade his youngest daughter make haste. So Custance caught a lighted cresset from the wall, and hurried Calote up the stair. And Calote, when she saw the azure gown broidered with gold about the hem, and the pointed crimson shoes, and the high cap of green and rose colour with its floating silken veil, made no more protest; for she was young, and a woman.
When all was done, her tiring maid drew back in dumb amaze; then took her hand and led her down to the hall.
At Calote's heart there was a fierce pain.